


Morris Motel

by orzechowski



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, drugs and alcohol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 22:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7408204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orzechowski/pseuds/orzechowski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon, with less then $300 dollars, a Sinatra CD, and a barley working car, makes his way out of his small, god for saken Mormon town in Nevada, and drives. Until, however, he lands in a new town, with no money, no place, he knows not one soul, and begins his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morris Motel

I grip the steering wheel tighter in my hold. I'm doing this, you can do it, Brendon. 

My heart is pumping, thumping through my shirt, telling me, you're doing this, you're doing it, just do it. I reach my hand over to the passenger seat and grab a single car key off the chair, the chair itself being tapped by duct tape from years of use. My movement feels slow, unreal even. I place the key into the ignition, and turn. It rumbles on telling me, it's time, let's go. Or perhaps, think this through!

I don't listen to this warning; I know this is a stupid idea. I know that there are much other, and smarter ways to get out, but this is exciting. This is what I've dreamt of since I could. I remember being 10, and already imagining this day, eight years ago. It's unreal to be sitting here for me. The atmosphere is new, yet I feel this nostalgia like I've never experienced before. Isn't it funny how you can feel nostalgic for something new? Contradictions are funny.

I reach into my back pocket, and pull out a wade of cash, I hadn't counted it, I just grabbed what was in my father's wallet. Is this stealing? Probably. But do I care? No. It couldn't be more than $300, so who cares? This is all I have. That's all. When I run out I won't even have gas in this car. But that's the beauty of it. I've got no plan, and I love that. No rules.

I put in the only CD I own, a Sinatra album which I had bought when I was 15. The CD itself was in fine condition, despite the many scratches, it played fine. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my heart beat. I still love the rush, but I need to relax and enjoy the moment for what it was, and remember my heart against my chest and the smell of May in Nevada. When Frank's voice started on the CD player, I opened my eyes, and looked at the clock. 

2:17 AM

2:17, on an unremarkable date in late May, this is the day my life will change. I'm free. I'm free. I burst into a happy grin, and into a laugh, free. The word is new, and unused, I can't wait to try it out. The world is new to me; I've never seen it like I will. Empty roads, and dimly lit gas stations, borrowed cigarettes and street lights as the only guide, sleeping in the back of an old, beaten up car and drinking cheap coffee. Of course, who wouldn't want this? 

And when I run out of money? Perhaps get a job at the nearest gas station to get enough money to keep going. Or perhaps, I'll just live in this car for the next year, getting money from who the hell knows. Oh- and the girls. See, there's no plan. There's no schedule, and no destination. I could sell weed for a living, I could. No one is stopping me. 

I look at the clock, again. 

2:23 AM, I take one more deep breath.

I open my eyes, and I'm looking on my garage doors. But this isn't my house anymore is it? It was just somewhere where I stayed for 18 years of my life without thought. I had no say, but I do now. 

I wonder if they'll miss me, my parents, who are sleeping safe and sound as their son is in the driveway, who stole his father's money and about to drive away in their old car. But who cares? They have two other cars which are in much better condition. The car won't be missed. But will I? I wonder just how my parents will react and find that I'm not there, with a car gone and all the cash out of my father's wallet. How they expect me to come back, and when I don't, what then? Will they worry? Or perhaps don't mind, maybe call the police? No, they'll know I left and not want to be found. They won't even care. Good. I don't want them too. 

I pull the car in reverse, and pull out of the driveway that's held me down for 18 years. With no directions, I get onto the highway going whichever way, to get out of this god for saken, little ass town that I won't miss.


End file.
